


Advantages of a Detail-Oriented Personality

by Bottomfeeder



Series: Zero Shorts [1]
Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, Gen, M/M, Other, POV: Zero, Psychological Torture, Survival, Unconventional Style, Zero's time in the suit, doing time in the suit, erosion of sanity, survivalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomfeeder/pseuds/Bottomfeeder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zero develops a coping-mechanism during his time in the suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advantages of a Detail-Oriented Personality

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted under my lj hard-death. 
> 
> In response to drabble123 prompt "lock", though after my typical obsessive fussing, no longer falls within the word limit.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism especially appreciated.

It's not really tin, but some kind of magical alloy that can be found everywhere in the O.Z. After the shock had worn off, after the --

 

\-- fuck it, it's not like anyone’s soaking up his thoughts like a sponge, he thinks, shakes with laughter --

\-- or would be, if his body wasn’t immobilized, leaving hysteria to vibrate in his mind with no place to go but deep down into the marrow of his bones, an inner itch he’ll never scratch out, a horsefly on his sanity he’ll never swat away for good --

 

\-- after the _panic_ had hit

he'd pushed **[PAUSE]**

\-- on himself

\-- on his screams

because his throat had felt like a lion's claws had slashed it to ribbons. The pain had grounded him. He’d concentrated on the burn instead of 

 

THE **FACT.**

HE COULDN'T **MOVE.**

A FUCKING **INCH.**

 

\-- He'd unclenched his teeth. 

\-- Severed his rage like it was an extra limb. 

\-- Put it on ice to reattach later. 

 

Anger always made him want to move around, which --

\-- not exactly an option. Instead, he'd noticed things.

\-- The lightning smell of the metal. 

\-- The bugzapper hum in his bones.

\-- The Outside.

 

\-- He'd quickly learned to appreciate the slightest detail, details being his entire world. Horded them like jewels and precious metals -- ha! -- since they were all he had to kill time. A dormant dragon, he’d waited for eternity to pass in a suffocating cave, so he could one day breathe fire on his enemies. Tallied the extensive list of them, in order of exquisitely minute increments of hate.

 

\-- Over the next few weeks he'd learned to appreciate the scrap of sky afforded him. The always-changing colors. The always-moving clouds. Many times, on a cold -- he'd guessed; temperature-control hadn't let him feel cold -- crystal-blue day, he'd shivered -- that tiny movement of the skin having been permitted -- from the sense-memory of Cain's eyes revealing his fate.

 

\-- After his first freakout -- there'd been many -- he'd panted like a dog, his breath a hot cloud that would've smothered him if he hadn't regained control. He'd first noticed the smell that was nothing like the smell of tin stars. He'd amused himself with the thought that he'd probably have to live in the fucking woods if he got out, just to escape all the suit-metal. City boy gone feral.

 

 

After Cain releases him, after the long trek in the rain that follows, after what will forever be known as 

After

After

After

he's bombarded by the same smell and hum now that he's inside the castle. He's horrified to realize it's like coming home.

 

 

 

 


End file.
